• faltertofade 38w

    Untitled

    I can feel the gentle breeze blowing across the graveyard that is my mind. A graveyard of a thousand lost voices shattered by the cold. The days turn to nights and the nights never seem to end in this graveyard of a thousand lost voices of one vessel torn into a million different pieces. Each grave a marker for each voice dream or path that has become a dead end on a dead end street that has no place on a map. Sometimes I find my feet tracing the steps I once took on these now deserted streets hearing only the echo of past mistakes. I awake the next morning in a grave that is all too familiar but it seems to have gotten deeper. This is now my routine bound by invisible chains I am unable to break it. Each day the hole gets deeper i wonder where it leads I know It's not hell because i am already in it.
    Ā©faltertofade